


Dyslexic Heart (Twenty-Two Drabbles)

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dyslexic Heart (Twenty-Two Drabbles)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mabetini's birthday

**#1. ****Iceberg**   
**Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 226   
**Characters:** Sylar, Mohinder

Sylar has learned how to keep his feelings in check. As an expert in the art of deception, he has convinced those around him to believe that what they see is what they get.

Even Mohinder.

But beneath focused and unblinking eyes that detail unemotional black holes consuming everything in their wake, etched in the creases of deep lines that sharply accentuate his tensed jaw in distaste, skirting along the stiff angles of his squared shoulders, refusing to let up for a moment, hidden in the stern and taunting inflection of his voice, is the man who cannot let go of 'what if?' and 'one day'.

A secret identity, perceptible to only himself, it stretches far and deep, anchoring him within the ever changing uncertainty that has become his life. Mohinder has no idea the importance he plays in Sylar's feelings of being tied to this fatalistic verse. He has no understanding of the unbridled hope placed in his simply being there that provides pause, relief, and keeps it all from imploding spectacularly. Without Mohinder, Sylar can imagine how exponentially grotesque it would have been.

But Sylar does not tell Mohinder any of this. Instead he silently shoulders the burden their unexpected first meeting thrust upon him. He wears the face of uncaring indifference--all the while he carries a lifetime of torment in weighted steps.

 

**#2.** **Bond**   
**Rating: **PG   
**Word Count:** 457   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Sylar, Nathan

Mohinder feels like he is going to be sick. The headaches have gotten worse, dull but throbbing, and no amount of pushing at his temples or swallowing aspirin brings forth any sustainable relief. Staring through the lens of the microscope at an endless array of blood samples or gazing at detailed formulas on his laptop screen only serves to remind him how little has been accomplished.

Nathan will have no need to keep him here unless he can prove his worth. The thought of being moved back to the detainment camp terrifies Mohinder. Stories--rumours that had spread amongst the detainees in the first two months of containment--play havoc in his brain. Those who were too powerful and too resistant disappeared. With no powers of his own his research is all Mohinder has. Without any progress, however, he may as well be six feet under.

He has to make this work but no matter how many times he runs the formula or checks the samples the results are always the same.

_You'll figure it out.   
_  
That voice goading him; trying to distract him.

_Not at all. Maybe you're looking for an excuse not to succeed. _

And why would that be?

_So you can live down to your father's expectations instead of accepting the responsibility that comes with exceeding them.   
_  
What, and be like…

_Like?   
_  
…Nothing…

_Say it. _

It's nothing--

_Say it. _

I said it's--

_Say it!   
_  
You! So I can be like you?

_You've always been like me, Mohinder. _

Never.

_We are bound by flesh and blood, by time and space. _

No.

_We are never far from each other, walking a parallel plane. _

…No…

_You will figure this out._

How do you know that?

_Because we are cut from the same fabric. You and I are one. We're--_

“How's it coming along?”

Nathan's voice cuts through Mohinder's internal conversation and he pushes up from his hunched form over the desk to address him. “Good--fine--it's coming along.”

Mohinder's skin itches under Nathan's scrutinizing stare, despite how hard he works to disguise his discomfort. Nathan eyes him from the lab door, then looks backwards over his shoulder before casually saying, “I guess we'll see about that,” as he turns and exists the lab, locking the door behind him.

Mohinder sighs and an impending sense of panic ticks loudly in his head.

_Survivors.   
_  
What?

_You'll figure it out because you have to. Because there's no other way. Because surviving is in your--our--blood.   
_  
What if I can't?

_You have to. _

Why?

_You're the only one who can stop me. It's our destiny. _

Mohinder closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Two seconds later he hunches over his desk and peers through the lens of the microscope.

 

**#3. Rockburst **  
**Rating:** PG13   
**Word Count: **594   
**Characters: **Sylar, Peter (mention of Mohinder)

“He hates you, you know.”

Sylar, sitting on the edge of one single bed in the motel room and flipping through a mission file, glances up briefly (quick enough to see that infuriating quirked eyebrow on his face) at Peter who is sitting on the edge of the other single bed.

“He thinks you're a monster and that he should have killed you when he had the chance.”

Unable to focus on the typed information that lines the pages in his hand, Sylar closes the file and tosses it behind him on the bed. He glares at Peter. “You two have a heart to heart about me?”

“Didn't have to,” Peter says, clearly enjoying Sylar's irritation. “I can read his mind, remember. And the stuff he's thought about you…”

Inwardly Sylar fumes at the exaggerated expression of false concern that Peter levels at him. “As if I care,” he mutters unconvincingly, looking to the floor, then back at him.

“Of course you don't.” Peter shrugs his shoulders. “It's only Mohinder. Why should you care that he was happy being assigned to work with Bennet instead of you? Why would it matter to you that being in the same room as you makes him think about that bullet going through your head?”

Sylar furrows his brow at the harsh sentiment. He knows full well that he and Mohinder move around each other in strained quiet, trying to focus on bigger picture issues, but it has been awhile since he gave thought to Mohinder despising him intensely. Initially yes, when the unveiled truth was a fresh wound. But since then that animosity had transformed into resigned coolness and maybe, eventually--hadn't it?

Sylar had been certain that with time Mohinder would begin to understand, would eventually accept that which could no longer be ignored. It was so repulsively basic but Sylar held onto it, and now--

“He thinks you're--,”

“Shut it, Petrelli.”

Peter grins teasingly. “How does it feel to have an unpowered person think you're nobody?”

“Watch it!”

“Especially Mohinder, who thinks we're all pretty interesting--_except _you.”

Sylar struggles to not let Peter's words hook into his skin. It should not bother him that Mohinder thinks so little of him, after all who is Mohinder but an inconsequential human surrounding himself with those he will never be like, no matter how hard he tries. And yet Sylar cannot help but be drawn to him, secretly wishing for a return of sentiments. Maybe they are both lost causes.

“The great Sylar crushed by a nobody--,”

The words are barely out of Peter's mouth when Sylar jumps to his feet and sends two bolts of electricity from his right and left hands to the centre of Peter's chest, forcing him to fly backwards and off the bed, into the wall, with a sharp thud. Burned flesh fills the air and Sylar abruptly stops the electrocution by fisting his hands and dropping his arms to his side. His anger is bubbling as his chest heaves up and down.

Peter, having fallen to the floor, begins laughing (much to Sylar's annoyance and surprise) as he slowly crawls to his feet and leans forward on the bed.

“What?” Sylar fumes, readying for a fight, but Peter is suddenly without any trace of antagonism.

Peter shifts backwards so that he is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. Fingering his burned shirt while his body heals below, he groans then levels a knowing smile at Sylar. “The two of you are so easy to play with.”

 

**#4. Hospitable   
Rating: **PG   
**Word Count: **88   
**Characters: **Mohinder/Sylar

Even with all the spewed hatred that flowed in hurtful words and torturous touches--

Despite these walls bearing witness to the most devastating of betrayals and revelations--

Through deadly mind games--

Broken hope--

The hint of what could have been but was never meant to be--

This apartment houses a piece of them. Sheltered from the storm of everything else, it embraces them. Here they can still feel…not normal, but at ease with the fractured pieces of whom they are.

It is not salvation.

But it will do.

**  
#5. Top-Notch   
Rating:** PG13   
**Word Count: **146   
**Characters: **Sylar, Peter, Mohinder

In theory it made no sense.

Everyone else considered Peter to be his greatest adversary, and power-for-power that was the case. Simple. To the point. Black and white.

Except…

Peter was not the one who had brought Sylar to his knees more than once. He is not the one who Sylar has made excuses not to kill for reasons best left unanalyzed. Peter is not the one who Sylar has sought out time and time again when he has been at his most vulnerable, broken, and lost.

Only one person had ever meant all that to Sylar. On the one hand it was bothersome that someone so inconsequential should mean so much to him. On the other hand the very fact that Sylar regarded him so highly automatically rendered Mohinder significant.

Sylar bestowed importance with consideration. If only Mohinder understood the honour placed at his feet.

 

**#6. Wolf   
Rating:** PG13   
**Word Count:** 247   
**Characters:** Mohinder/Sylar

He still has the ability to make Mohinder shiver.

Lying with his back against the bed, Mohinder stares at Sylar above him, still dripping wet from the shower, water droplets falling from his hair down to Mohinder's chest.

Mohinder luxuriates in the feeling of their moist skin pressed tight. He has his leg wrapped around Sylar's hips, holding them together. Mohinder reaches his left hand around Sylar's back, flattening it against the taut muscles, and cups the back of his neck with the right one.

When Mohinder thinks he could get lost in Sylar's eyes he sees that familiar glint. It is fast but unmistakable and his breath catches in his throat.

_All the better to see you with my dear. _

Words--of concern, curiosity, confusion--stay back on Mohinder's tongue. He has seen this look before when thought he was traveling with Zane Taylor. It makes him nervous, reminding him that he the man he has started down this unforeseen path with is far more complicated and intriguing than anyone he has ever met. Fascination comes with a price.

Before his mind can run away from him again the spell is broken. Sylar's eyes soften and he smiles, leaning forward and taking Mohinder's lips with his own. Their kisses always counter the riddle of other undefined actions. With everything that has no rhyme or reason, their kiss needs no explanation. It demands no clarification. In it resides the unadorned truth. The awful truth. The broken confession.

 

**#7. Adumbrate   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count: **235   
**Characters: **Mohinder/Gabriel, Peter, Matt, Molly, Mohinder's mother

Mohinder should have known better.

Secrets and lies have always been between them from the beginning. The withholding of pertinent information, a mysterious hand always kept close to the chest, is as familiar to them as breathing. No matter what has changed between them that fact still remains clear as day.

It should not catch Mohinder off guard, but it does.

He jumps as the chorus sounds out, “Surprise!” before switching into a joyous, if tone deaf, rendition of Happy Birthday. Startled, with his eyes wide and mouth in a silent 'O' of shock, Mohinder's heart thumps out the baseline as he takes in the sight of friendly faces grinning at him and laughing at each other--Peter, Matt, Molly, his mother--

Mohinder freezes on her face as everyone else falls away. She steps forward from the pack of well wishers and takes him into a comforting embrace that he has missed and thought of for months as work overwhelmed and his research stumbled to a halting state of stagnation. In her arms he feels relief.

As the song dies down Mohinder opens his eyes and, still holding his mother close, breathing in home, he catches Gabriel watching him closely.

A small smile turns up at the corners of Gabriel's lips and he mouths out the words, “Happy birthday.”

Mohinder smiles at him.

Secrets and lies.

At least now it is for a worthier cause.

 

**#8. ****Undefeated**   
**Rating:** PG13   
**Word Count: **101   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Sylar

There has never been a knockout punch.

Power shifts between them at the alteration of every turn, subject to unanticipated and unexpected circumstances. There is an ebb and flow, and they ride the tide with vigour and purpose.

Down but never out, each recognizes himself in the other. Intent shifts. There is no need to definitively end what sparks between them, what weighs heavy, what drives forth.

They encircle each other with an unwavering stare, tightly pulled lips and heads held high. With each round, they are still standing while others disappear by the wayside.

All they see is each other.

 

**#9. Time   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 168   
**Characters: **Mohinder/Sylar 

During the earliest days, the first two years, time stretched out between them endlessly towards a horizon that was constantly out of reach.

Seconds dripped like hours and forever rung out like a punishment.

In the hands of fate, however, within the unnerving sanctuary of a scientific destiny in which they were reformed and recreated, intertwining them irrevocably, time is now too fleeting. It slips away with a speed that is alarming and no matter how much Mohinder and Sylar try to slow it down, holding onto each second for as long as humanly possible, it remains elusive and undeterred.

For awhile they lived in regret for the time they had laid waste to, letting it eat away at their present.

They know better now.

They make memories out of touch and scent. They transform sound into bookmarks that hold firm remembrances. They taste yesterday in the present and the promise of tomorrow in the afterglow.

They cannot control time, so they have learned to make it count.

**  
#10. Transubstantiate   
Rating:** PG13   
**Word Count: **281   
**Characters:** Mohinder/Sylar

Liquefying solid metal with the tip of a finger.

Solidifying liquid with a directed breath.

Molecule manipulation turning nothingness into fire.

There are an array of abilities within his arsenal that still astound Sylar. But only one brings a quiet smile (not a teasing smirk at his own grandeur) to his face and fills him with a rush of pride for his accomplishment of unequalled worth.

Sylar could have forced it. He could have controlled the perimeters and made it all work out in the way he wanted it to. Instead he chose the long hard road. Patience and frustration followed in the face of resistant antagonism. He did not give up. He practiced the actions that would set him apart from whom he once was, unapologetically. He held firm and proved he was better than the worst expectations placed on him. Setbacks marred the journey, but still he persevered.

Then it was not hatred. It was not love either, not at first, but then…

It was not instantaneous gratification but drawn out hope, tried for and sought after.

In the bathroom mirror Sylar eyes the reflection of Mohinder stepping out of the shower behind him; his body glistening in a sheen of water. With his hair a mess of wet curls, Mohinder wraps a white towel around his waist. Sylar meets Mohinder's gaze in the mirror and smiles as Mohinder shakes his head, sending a spray of water all about. He steps up behind Sylar and presses a heated kiss to his shoulder before heading out to the bedroom.

Closing his eyes he feels Mohinder's lips against his skin.

Maybe the greatest change is the one Mohinder induced in him.

 

**#11. Picture   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 172   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Sylar

Two images of Mohinder war in Sylar's mind.

One is of Mohinder standing over him with fury in his eyes and bitterness in his tone, stretching out his arm and pointing a gun; the slight recoil in his stance as the bullet spins forward.

The other is of Mohinder sitting across from him in the diner booth as they wait for Bennet and Peter to show up. Mohinder is skimming his eyes across the menu's food selection and glances up, meeting his gaze. His eyes are soft and his shoulders are relaxed. A vision of ease and calm, he smiles.

The images are years apart but they are the dichotomy of Mohinder that captivates Sylar, body and soul. Whether one is more real than the other, he cannot say. He prefers to think of them both as genuine artifacts of the man who has come to mean more to him than anyone else.

Sylar takes pleasure in the complicated reading. After all, he would not be so taken with anyone less deserving.

 

**#12. Urn   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 222   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Sylar

Mohinder had stared at it for just the right amount of time.

It was long enough that others understood the emotional gravitas of what had been lifted from his shoulders and short enough that new questions based on old theories and rumours--gossip--were not entertained.

Sylar's death signified the end of a troubling era for all of them. The goodbye was awkward, but fitting, before life went back to normal.

Two days.

The twilight of the second night.

Mohinder wakes with a start.

“Did they believe you?”

He sighs, trying to will calm to his pounding heart, and sits up, putting his back against the headrest. “Yes.”

Sylar, sitting on the side of the bed, to the right of Mohinder's legs, is partly illuminated by the bluish haze of the moonlight that peeks through the parted edges of the window curtain. He looks at Mohinder. “How can you be sure?”

Mohinder rubs his right hand through his hair. “Do you trust me?” he asks in all seriousness, knowing that the answer will speak of more than the covert mission they have planned for three years behind false antagonism and hatred in an effort to bring down The Company once and for all.

Sylar regards him thoughtfully. “Yes,” he replies steadily.

The end of the beginning is the beginning of the end.

 

**#13. Word Association   
Rating: **PG   
**Word Count: **184   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Sylar

“You can't be serious?”

“We've got two more hours until we hit San Antonio. It will help pass the time.”

“Can't we just listen to the radio?”

“Mohinder.”   
“Fine!”

“Okay then…red.”   
“Apple.”

“Blue.”   
“Sky.”

“Purple.”   
“Rose.”

“…”   
“Of Cairo--it's a Woody Allen film.”

 

“Wow, your answers are incredibly exciting.”   
“Says the man who keeps listing colours. This works better as a psychological exercise, Sylar, than a driving game.”

“Are you saying you want me to step it up a notch?”   
“If you insist on playing this game, then yes--,”

“Blood.”   
“Sylar.”

“What? It's a legitimate word.”   
“Yes, and my answer was Sylar.”

“…Road.”   
“Long.”

“Warm.”   
“Home.”

“New York.”   
“Tall.”

“Stone.”   
“Heart.”

“Silk.”   
“Sari.”

“Belief.”   
“Burden.”

“Lie.”   
“Truth.”

“Happy.”   
“Mother.”

“Sad.”   
“Zane.”

“…”   
“This is a stupid game.”

“Why?”   
“Why is the game--,”

“Why Zane?”   
“…first thing that came to mind.”

“Because he--my--rendition of him was a pathetic human being?”   
“No.”

“…then?”   
“It was just a slip of the tongue.”

“That's the point. The first thing that comes to mind is everything.”   
“Let it go.”

“Mohinder.”   
“Sylar! Let it go.”

 

**#14. Wrecked   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 82   
**Characters: **Mohinder/Sylar

He is ruined.

The one thing that should not have happened, that was unfathomable to any rational thinker, has been brought to light.

He is desecrated.

So hard he fought against the urge, deigning it madness, not fit to exist--even when it coursed through him without apology or explanation.

He is twisted.

His body responds though it shouldn't. His mind unfolds when it should retreat. One kiss and he is undone--

Free falling--

Inside out--

One kiss…

And he is wrecked.

 

**#15. Faculty   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 309   
**Characters:** Mohinder/Gabriel, Peter, Matt

“He's still in there some place,” Peter says quietly, standing in the doorway of the hospital room.

Matt sighs. “But does he know what's going on?”

They both look at Mohinder, catatonic, sitting in a wheelchair placed by the window. Next to him Gabriel sits in an armchair he has pulled up, reading aloud from a book.

“I can sense brainwaves,” Peter admits and turns his attention to Matt. “They're not strong, but…it's him. Are you sure you can't hear anything?”

“Only if you count a static white wall.” Matt shakes his head in frustration and grimaces.

Peter lets out a low exhalation of exhausted breath in sympathy and goes back to watching Gabriel read to Mohinder. It is a rare show of affection and Peter finds it intriguing. There are a multitude of questions that flood his mind demanding explanation but this is not the time or place. Gabriel would not take kindly to the interruption.

“I hate that he's here,” Matt coolly refers to Gabriel, their own confrontational past as yet unforgotten.

“I know,” Peter says and leans towards him, “but Mohinder's brainwaves spike when Gabriel is nearby or talking to him. If we're going to figure this out then we have to put up with him.

Matt glances at him. “What is it with those two?”

Peter hesitates, taking a moment to watch the two men again. Gabriel looks up from the book, closing it, and leans forward, gently squeezing Mohinder's left arm. He peers closely, like he is trying to meet Mohinder's gaze or return it. Peter cannot say for certain but a look of hope calls out from searching eyes. Just as quick, Gabriel's eyes harden and he drops his hand from Mohinder's arm. Furrowing his brow he sits back and opens the book, again reading out loud.

“I have no idea,” Peter says.

 

**#16. Worriment   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 193   
**Characters:** Molly, Mohinder's mother, Mohinder, hint of Sylar

Safe in India, making Mohinder's childhood bedroom her own for the time being, Molly pretends that Mohinder is the one in a far away land.

Lying back on his bed and gazing up at the ceiling, she pictures a ratty map detailing his treacherous journey for mysterious treasures in the midst of overwhelming obstacles.

Drawing with his mother in the backyard, beneath the orange and yellow sun, Molly imagines that he is thinking of her as he tries to outwit deceptive creatures and slay deadly monsters.

On the floor of his room she huddles in her new favourite spot in the space under his desk and slowly reads through the handful of postcards he has sent her. She looks for clues in his handwritten words revealing what he is really thinking but afraid to say out loud. Memorizing the pen strokes and angled letters, she creates a secret language between them.

Her concern carries across land and ocean on a wish and a prayer, his reassurance returns in broad strokes and sweet utterances.

Molly takes comfort where she can.

“Once upon a time, in a land far away…”

She smiles, sad yet light.

 

**#17. Stethoscope   
Rating: **PG13   
**Word Count:** 297   
**Characters: **Mohinder/Sylar

Lying on his left side, propped up on his elbow, Mohinder gazes upon Sylar's sleeping form next to him. Sylar's slumber is deep and restful and his chest slowly rises and falls with each drawn out breath.

Mohinder is captivated by the peaceful expression on Sylar's face. It is a far cry from the intensity and calculated defiance that accompanies his waking state. This content side of Sylar is a rare sight and the truth in its expression makes Mohinder bite his lower lip in appreciation and anticipation.

With his right hand, Mohinder gently trails his fingers across Sylar's chest, feeling the course, matted hair beneath his tips. He stops above Sylar's heart and presses down, feeling for the rhythmic heartbeat.

With curiosity he watches Sylar's expression remain passive. Shifting closer, he drags his hand from Sylar's chest down his torso to fit into his left hand, resting on the mattress. Mohinder presses his face, left cheek, against Sylar's body. Closing his eyes he tunes into the heart that beats below. With the singled out frequency, Mohinder opens his eyes and allows the steady sound, rising heat, and musky scent, to override his senses, rendering him hypnotized.

He is so overcome that he nearly startles from the feeling of Sylar's right hand in his hair and the quiet murmur, “Mohinder?”

Moving up slightly, Mohinder meets Sylar's questioning gaze. “I…uh…”

Sylar smiles and leans up, cutting Mohinder's stammer off with a kiss to his lips. As he falls back against the pillow, Mohinder bashfully smiles down on him, mindfully revelling in the soft but firm ticklish touch of Sylar's hand in his hair. When Sylar silently encourages Mohinder's head forward, he rests it against Sylar's chest again.

This time Sylar's heart beats stronger and louder.   
Unmistakable.   
Undeniable.   
Unrelenting.

 

**#18. Astonish   
Rating: **PG13   
**Word Count:** 242   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Sylar, Peter, Matt

Hellfire and brimstone coats his skin in a murky sheen and floods his nostrils with the stench of sulphur and things best left unsaid.

The city is in ruins and Mohinder struggles to run, stumbling repeatedly to his knees and ignoring the pain of his wounded hands spilling blood from deep gashes polluted with grit and grime as he tries to scramble forward.

This battle--

He is not a religious man, but Judgement Day clangs mercilessly in his head. How had it imploded so staggeringly?

Paper, twisted metal, jagged blocks of concrete, cars turned into children's playthings, are the new world order. He can hear Peter shouting, trying to fight, to slay the metaphorical dragons that circle around them. He can hear Matt's voice in his head trying to direct him to safety as he blindly manoeuvres deadly obstacles. Panic is felt in shocked screams and the earth rumbling its discontent.

Another corner, more smoke, and Mohinder grimaces in time to see an explosion of sharp-edged bricks hurtling his way. In that split second before impact, Mohinder's life flashes unceremoniously before him and all he can think is, _'So this is how it ends,'_ with a strange sense of acceptance.

As his mind instinctively pulls his body back, it all stops.

_'Is this death?'   
_  
The bricks fall to the ground and Mohinder stares in shock until a strong hand grabs hold of his right shoulder and spins him around.

“Run,” Sylar orders.

 

**#19. Tree Ring   
Rating:** PG13   
**Word Count:** 213   
**Characters: **Mohinder, Sylar

Mohinder measures his life in failures and triumphs.

Pushed back on his heels, admonished, ignored, used--refusing to back away from a challenge, with strides previously unseen in his field of work, resilient, grudgingly respected.

He has been knocked to the ground and risen on his own two feet.

With every action questioned, he stumbles and fumbles, but forward on he goes; head held high, bruised and bleeding, eyes steady to tomorrow.

That constant voice trips up his steps and pushes him along--it is not who it should be but who it shouldn't.

It is the only one that makes sense.

Perfect imperfection.

***

Sylar measures his life in regrets and accomplishments.

Unrestrained by life devolving odds, he moves with purpose and demanding intent.

Subjugated, used and abused under wilful ignorance, he has survived indiscretions to dole out punishment with relish. Resisted and defied, he regards opposition with the eyes of a survivalist.

He is the standard, self-realized and self-created, that rules their unspoken cerebral landscape.

There is power in the presentation.

The memories tease with eloquence.

He is humbled by the one person who should have proven nothing notable in the grand scheme of his life. In humiliation is awe that plagues him, working restlessly into the mutation of evolved cells.

Imperfect perfection.

 

**#20. Obfuscate   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 265   
**Characters: **Mohinder, Sylar, Peter, Bennet

Peter had grown accustomed to Mohinder and Sylar's volatile relationship. Harsh personal criticisms aside, once working together was an irrefutable fact, they still played out dismissive distaste with candour. Teasing words did little to disguise the troubled past that followed them, though a tone of complacency began to set in.

Moving to and from each other, Peter was always mindful of the distance they willed between them. Over time it became negligible. A smirk, rolling eyes--once the equivalent of retaliatory disapproval and challenging dares--became an expected and humorous accent that they paid little attention to.

Peter wondered if it was resignation or acceptance.

Then one day it is angry jabs and rigid avoidance. Peter regards them pulling further apart as if no headway has been made up to now. They snap and glare and Peter sighs that they are all the way back to square one.

But in the middle of a casual glance, Peter sees Sylar look up at Mohinder (who is busy typing up information on the laptop) with an expression that is as far from hatred as possible. It peaks Peter's curiosity but he thinks little of it until the meeting wraps up and Sylar is going over final plans with Bennet. Shrugging his jacket on, Peter is about to address Mohinder when he catches him watching Sylar with a look of expectation before shaking his head and offering a placating smile to Peter.

Square one is no longer a concern, Peter realizes, but he has no idea what has transpired between them instead. Still, he intends to find out.

 

**#21. Refresh   
Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 135   
**Characters:** Mohinder, Gabriel's father 

Mohinder can barely contain the smile on his face.

The trip to India was exactly what he needed. Although it was no longer his permanent address, the very fact of it being there with open arms washed relief over him. It allowed him to look forward to New York with possibility while the safe haven of his mother's doing rested in his back pocket.

This time around the air in New York smells different, the pace beats out like a steady chant, and the city beckons to him with a wink. He is…awake. He is ready to jump down that rabbit hole and potentially change what had once seemed an elusive concept.

***

The older gentleman eyes him inquisitively. “May I help you?”

Mohinder swallows nervously then says, “Yes sir. I believe I know your son Gabriel.”

 

**#22. Wasn't   
Rating: **G   
**Word Count:** 25   
**Characters: **hints of Mohinder/Sylar

It wasn't easy or to the point.

Or rational.

It wasn't a certainty from the start.

It was the struggle that made it worth it.

 

 


End file.
